Xibalba
by Black 13 Productions
Summary: For years, dreams of fire-rain have plagued N'Ra's horse rancher, Faiye. When the dormant volcanoes beneath the mountain city spit the omen, it is up to the young woman to embark on a journey to find a city of her peoples' legends in the hopes they may have the technology to put a stop to the building catastrophe.


**Introduction**

Old Mother used to say that when fire fell from above, Xibalba would reveal itself, a Mecca to those who had been wronged so many times before. She would always say this after being called by the Spirits, being summoned into the Sacred Lands by the Earth itself, returning days later looking drained with those words on her lips.

"Xibalba will come when the sky rains fire."

She had been saying it for years, Papa would say. He had been watching her for years, decades. Since before I was born. Old Mother would say that until it happened, she was just that stubborn. At least, until I saw it, too. Old Mother had always told Papa that I had the gift. She said it came to me when I saw Ama stomped by that monstrous black stallion Papa was always after. The day Ama died. Seeing death happen always brings the gift. You see how the world turns, how it ends, and it invites the Spirits to come to you and greet you as they would Old Mother.

Old Mother became my stand-in maternal guardian after Ama passed. She had seen me take the gift given me by the Spirits. Papa did not like it, but it kept me out of trouble, and at eight years, it was a reasonable fear for one who is both single parent and Chief of the community, and Sanctuary was an ever-growing community.

We were centered on a Savannah, beneath The Spire, a naturally-formed tower of dirt and stone, shadowing the world beneath it like a beacon, a guardian, and an omen simultaneously. It marked where our community lands ended and the Sacred Lands began. No one but Old Mother was allowed in the Sacred Lands, save for two catalysts. The Spirits called you, you went to them. If you did not, bad things would happen to you, your family, your land, or your horses. You always answered the call of the Spirits. The second, you came of age to pass into adulthood. Your Rites of Passage took place in the Sacred Lands, with Old Mother at your side. The ancient shaman woman would teach you what you needed to know and help you understand for your Ascension of The Spire. Once you Ascended, spoke to the Spirits and heard their Voices whispering, you Descended and became an adult. Most of those in Sanctuary would never see the Sacred Lands again.

Old Mother did the same for me. She took me into the Sacred Lands, taught me to better harness the gift the Spirits gave me to listen, always. But while she taught me all I needed to know about living in Sanctuary as an adult, she also taught me about the ways of our people before, the Estyrians.

We were a prosperous race once. We owned the desert in which Estyr, the capital, used to sit. "It means Star." she said. "Hence, the name of the Star Gate."

She said it was a lavish work, built of solid blocks of lapis lazuli to welcome guests into our city, carved with the effigies of deities long lost. A race of warriors and assassins, always intimidating but never mean or crude. "At least the warrior will always stick." Estyr fell on the Night of Fire, when the brutal empire of Exodus burnt the city to the ground and slaughtered most of the inhabitants, scattering what was left, looting the city, and leaving it to crumble.

"All that is left now", she said, "is the ruin that was the Star Gate. And even that is almost lost to time. But! But there are rumors. Rumors that most of our brethren that escaped found one another and established a new city, far from Exodus' iron claws. They call it Xibalba."

The name will always send chills up my spine, just thinking about it. Xibalba. It means 'City of the Dead'. But Old Mother insists that despite the name, it is a thriving metropolis, filled with Estyrians of the Old World. Before the Night of Fire. She insists that if her prophecies come to fruition, someone should go to Xibalba and ask for help.

I Ascended, as I should have, my self-made bow and arrows in hand. I spoke to the Wind at the top of The Spire, I heard the Voices. I Descended, Papa was happy that I was an adult. There was a celebration to thank the Spirits that I was delivered into adulthood safely. We built a house, we built a corral. I was old enough to take a mate, I did not want to just yet. I thought myself too young still for wanting romantic relations with anyone. But I had to prove my adulthood somehow. Our people are horse-folk. The Testificates in the villages nearby rely on our ability to speak to horses in order to buy and trade for good work-animals. This is how I chose to be an adult, through our craft.

I tamed and took my first horse, that big black Tundra stallion who ran his herd through our lands twice a year. The one who killed my Ama, that Papa has been after for years. He became my property over the course of two weeks and sleight of hand and foot. I took his mare, I took a third of his herd to make him feel like home, even though he is surrounded on all sides by bars and fences. I took his first son.

Bucephalus.

He turned out exactly like his sire, both in looks and in temperament; big, black, and mean. He took the skin off my nose and cheeks, left me with a scar. I punished him for it and gave him one similar. We are closer now and he will accept no other.

I took his shaggy half-brother, named him Morpheus. He is not as mean as his elder, but he is no smaller, either.

When I left Sanctuary, I gave Papa their sire as a gift. I do not know if he has ever been able to properly tame that monster Tundra to his hand. I gave Old Mother a little white Plains mare, Morpheus' mare-mother. She is patient and sweet and will gladly wait for the old shaman woman. The rest of the herd, I had trained and donated to the nearby Testificate villages, a gift to help them in the trying times of drought frequent with Deserts and Savannas.

I am unsure what drew me initially to the N'Ran territories. Perhaps it was the ethereal whispers of Spirits guiding me to where my skills would be needed the most. As it happened, the prior rancher for the mountain metropolis of N'Ra had passed of old age, his daughter a successful traveling merchant and his son taking on apprenticeship with the local leather smith. With my expertise on horses and bringing in new blood to the slowly-stagnating lineages, I was given the job of rancher. I was sixteen at the time.

Somewhere within the first five years in my new residence and establishment, the dreams began. I understood what Old Mother was talking about.

When the sky rains fire, Xibalba will reveal itself.

The first few times I saw it, it scared me into not sleeping for several days. Eventually, the dreams became so frequent that they did not phase me as badly. I still heed them; the Spirits have spoken and you do not ignore the Spirits.

For now, I will wait for the sky to rain fire.


End file.
